Deja Entendu
by burstsoflight
Summary: A short series of themed drabbles, featuring various characters from Inglourious Basterds.
1. Scars

**Author`s Note: **The first in a list of drabbles. I was wary about posting these as they`re not very good, and I probably won`t be able to fill all of the prompts, but practice is practice.

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1. Scars

He doesn't give much thought to the strange looks people give him as he cuts through the streets, not anymore at least. He doesn`t feel their eyes on his back as he brushes the hair out of his face in annoyance, or wonder about the little gasps their mouths produce when he smiles politely as he always does with people. It is his habit to be kind, even unnervingly so.

He`s grown used to no longer receiving the same emotion in return, through he still wonders why. Why was his presence such a shock? Was it his expensive clothes? His gaudy car? Maybe his wide expanse of property and the lovely home that occupied it left people unsettled.

_Or perhaps_, he thinks, _it was the scars_. Yes, that must be it. The grotesque marks that engraved his forehead, twisting the surrounding skin into a demented shape. It hadn't been put there to be ignored, and it wasn`t, no matter how much he wanted that (and he wanted that quite a bit). The Swastika blazed like a wildfire above Landa`s eyebrows, consuming the views of passers-by.


	2. Fire

2. Fire

The crowd roars in sync with the flames as the fire rises to meet them. The face of their murderer casts a haunting shadow across the expanse of the room, reaching all the way back to the locked doors. Their panic is almost laughable, and provides her with a comforting last thought.

Up and away from the chaos, two bodies occupy the floor of a projection booth, one dead, the other soon to be. She notes his side of the room is silent and has been for a while now. He does not stir when the distant sound of her on screen laughter mocks the would-be patrons, nor when she kicks his foot because some part of herself can`t believe he`s really gone. Trying her best, Shosanna ignores the remorse she feels gathering in her stomach; she does not want her final moments to be filled with pity for him.

The floor below them begins to crumble as the putter of machine guns gives way to bombs and flames.


	3. Cream

3. Cream

"I did have something else I wanted to ask you..."

Landa looked at her, cigarette twitching thoughtfully in his hand. The sound of his undetectable muses drowned out the rest of the teeming restaurant and Shosanna could`ve sworn her stomach had flipped itself over, like a restless child unable to sleep. Her hands, she noticed, had been subjected to so much nervous twisting and clenching that the fingers had turned rusty shades of red and purple. She felt a strange fear rise in her that the digits might suddenly dislodge themselves from the rest of her palm, and inch out the door.

He cleared his throat, and after capturing her attention again, the Colonel spoke. His tone was nauseatingly lighthearted,

"But right now, I can`t for the life of me, remember what it was! Must`ve not been important."

He snuffed out his cigarette, twisting the butt into the cream topping of his strudel on the table. It hissed softly at her as he gathered his things and exited the café. Suppressing a sob, Shosanna pushed the unfinished dessert away, the taste of ash in her mouth.


	4. Family

**Author`s Note: **Comments, suggestions and basically any kind of feedback is always welcome.

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6. Family

Sounds of carefully spoken English swirl inside the walls above her, and she thinks she almost feels safe. Although the reason for shifting languages is currently unknown to her, their tones are kind, like two friends, conversing about the weather over a warm drink. Still, she keeps a hand clamped solid over her mouth, and makes certain her brother does the same.

They`ve returned to French now, and she feels something close to comfort fall around her. It sounds as if the intruder is preparing to bid the family goodbye. But before relief can begin to make its way in, she hears cries of terror as machine gun bullets rip through her family, leaving her untouched.

Shocked and disoriented, she crawls away under the floorboards, and finally tumbles out through a small opening in the back of the house. Her actions are clumsy with grief and soon-to-be hatred weighs her down.

Shosanna manages to escape, sprinting across the lawn and staining the ground with her footsteps.


End file.
